O Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi
by Lucifer's Seraphim
Summary: Songfic of 'O Fortuna' from 'Carmina Burana' the basis for 'OneWinged Angel'. Jenova's plans and how She views the pitiful humans that oppose Her how She uses Sephiroth.


Always spinning, rotation in permanence, what goes up comes down, he rides Fortune's Wheel. An island of order in a sea of chaos, he is separated from the traitors but is still very much one of them, and it is by one of Fortune's tricks that he does not know this. The poisonous bitch-Goddess he calls 'Mother' does naught to disavow him of this small ignorance that has ended so many lives and will end so many more. In a way, the Crisis From The Skies is the embodiment of Fortune, for She takes what She pleases as She will, bides Her time and is a mistress of illusion. Her very viral organization is purest chaos held under dominance of pure will and desire, and She is well aware of it. She presents Her dark gifts not according to the book, distributing favours, honours, but the honours and favours mask death, destruction, and decay.  
To Her chosen pawn, who has made his way across the board and has put the King in jeopardy, She gives power and strength and will, but fills him with Her being and drives him. He is Fortune's fool, but there is another who is the card without a number, and the one with no number leads so many more from the deck. The Magician is there, bearing a flickering flame, and the High Priestess followed, but she was removed by the Crisis and now her card has been snapped in half and thrown away to the bottom of the lake. The Hanged Man is always silent, morose, seemingly uncaring but consumed with misery. The Tower fulfilled its own meaning and lies in ruins, and the thirteenth card strides across the face of the Planet to make his way to the end of the game. Soon, he will bring the twenty-first card into play and call the Stone from the Skies, and then he will rule over the twenty-second and hold the Puppet in thrall. In this way, he will be reborn as a God, to rule over every soul. He is Fortune's fool, but there are others who are more fool than he. He has seen it all, for he was once the highest of the high, now fallen to darkness and shadow, but his Fortune is rising and soon he will sit at the top of the Wheel and never fall again.  
**__**

O Fortuna,  
velut luna  
statu variabilis,  
semper crescis  
aut descrescis;  
vita detestabilis  
nunc obdurat  
et tunc curat  
ludo mentis aciem,  
egestatem,  
potestatem  
dissolvit ut glaciem.

__

O Fortune,  
like the moon  
you are changeable,  
ever waxing  
and waning;  
hateful life  
first oppresses  
and then soothes  
as fancy takes it;  
poverty  
and power  
it melts them like ice.

She has risen like the mighty Phoenix, from the ashes of Her own defeat, broken through the ice that held Her and called out to the mind of one who would bring Her to the dwellings of men, and now Her flame burns bright in the hearts, minds, and souls of Her puppets. She rides the nightmare that is the man who is Her son in all but blood, cooling his fevered brow with dreams of glory even as She enflames his imagination with the power that will set the world alight. With Her, he will be God of darkness and God of light according to his whim, which will of course be governed by Hers. She is Fortune, wild and uncaring, doing as She will, when She will, and none may control, appease, or deny Her. The sparks of Her fury spread through the veins of those who have been imbued with Her will, and in this, She has contingency, for should Her favoured pawn fail, She will flee to another. Perhaps, if the thirteenth card is lost or broken, She will go to the one with no number, or to any other of Her choosing, although none will be as fair as Her current favourite, or as powerful. To the six-winged mockery of the Seraphim She has given the power to call a lesser cousin of the twenty-first card, the powers of the Cruel Angel, the rider of the Pale Horse. To the twisted creation that mimes the hold She has over Her chosen pawn, She has gifted near-invulnerability. In this way, She safeguards Her son, but before all, She has placed Her own avatar.

**__**

Sors immanis -  
et inanis  
rota tu volubilis,  
status malus,  
vana salus  
semper dissolubilis,  
obumbrata  
et velata  
michi quoque niteris;  
nunc per ludum  
dorsum nudum  
fero tui sceleris.

Fate - monstrous  
and empty,  
you whirling wheel,  
you are malevolent,  
well-being is vain  
and always fades to nothing,  
shadowed  
and veiled  
you plague me too;  
now through the game  
I bring my bare back  
to your villainy.

She rules all, the shadowy puppet-mistress, the Midnight Queen. All of Creation will fall under Her sway, or She will crush it under Her foot like a glass bauble. Anything that refuses to submit to Her will shall be as naught, most of all these miserable objects that crawl through tunnels even now to make an attempt on the life of Her chosen pawn. There, indeed, is that sly Magician, covered in red fur with a flame on his tail, there is that Hanged Man, there at last is the numberless Fool with that pesky woman with whom he has so recently been Lovers. They are eight in number, pitiful, really, and barely worth the attention it would take to brush them aside and toss them off the edge of despair, although one does bear a scale of one of the WEAPONS of the Planet, but they will not help It now. Its puling cries are music to Her ears, and soon It will scream even more until It dies, a miserable and cold and bloodless rock orbiting a small and inconsequential sun. She will sweep Her tail and a third of the stars shall fall down from Heaven; She shall call down the Falling Star and the waters of the world shall be as wormwood, and the screams of the traitors will be a sweet symphony for Her pleasure. Their dream was sent out into the cold Universe, and It made no reply. All proceeds in accordance with Her will and soon there will be nothing _but_ Her will. 

**__**

Sors salutis   
et virtutis   
michi nunc contraria,   
est affectus   
et defectus   
semper in angaria.   
Hac in hora   
sine mora   
corde pulsum tangite;   
quod per sortem   
sternit fortem,   
mecum omnes plangite! 

Fate is against me  
in health  
and virtue,  
driven on  
and weighted down,  
always enslaved.  
So at this hour  
without delay  
pluck the vibrating strings;  
since Fate  
strikes down the stringman,  
weep all you with me!

The countdown begins, for Her dark messenger of doom bears down even now upon the festering sore that slowly weeps the Planet's blood, and soon the thin scab of stone and soil that covers that wound will be ripped away. The blood will flow swiftly and surely, and the Spirit Energy shall rush to that place and be absorbed by Her chosen pawn. He will be reborn, a God to rule over every soul. For the miserable beings that dust the surface of the Planet like some revolting pestilence, it will be Judgement Day - Dies Irae, when burning winds will flay the living rock and none will escape the wrath of the new God. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth, and all things will be reordered to fit with Her will. The Birth of the God proceeds apace, and must not be interrupted. Her One-Winged Angel will strike fear and terror into the hearts of all living, all shall be enslaved, and amidst the blood and chaos, She shall hold sway, Jenova Absolute, a Crisis From The Sky such as the world has never seen.   
The wretched band of creatures who would oppose Her gather now at the Heart of the Planet, and She prepares to sweep them aside. Her avatar rises from the depths, the embodiment of Her puppetry strides forth, and Her Winged-One of the Lower Reaches (_haryuu no hane kata_, the Angel from Hell's heart) waits with a sly smile upon its beautiful face. One moment now, while She brushes them away, and then all the world will weep! 

Author's Notes:  
Well, this turned out much different than I thought it would. Originally, it was to be about Sephiroth, but somehow it got turned about to focus on Jenova. I do know that it's rather poetic and lyrical, which wasn't really intended upon, but it turned out quite well.  
A great deal of obscure references must now be explained, I think.  
First off, the fact that I write this to '_O Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi_' and, therefore, '_Carmina Burana_', is a nod to my favourite piece from the FFVII soundtrack, '_One-Winged Angel_', which was based on '_Carmina Burana_'.  
The thing about the cards is referring to the Tarot. Cursory study into the Tarot should reveal any number of odd correlations with a bit of Final Fantasy VII.  
I realize that I tossed in a few names of music tracks, and I made a reference to '_Fortune Presents Gifts Not According to the Book_' by Dead Can Dance.  
It's about bloody time that someone songficced '_O Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi_' but.....well, oh well.

~Silverfire~


End file.
